


Terms of Service

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard, Casual Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Human Zenyatta, M/M, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Reinhardt/Zenyatta* unofficial sequel to 'The best Plans' by robotfvckers.Zenyatta offers Reinhardt a massage... to return the favour.





	Terms of Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robotfvckers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Best Plans](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092629) by [robotfvckers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers). 



> This fic is an unofficial continuation (with permission) of [The best Plans (by robotfvckers)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11092629). I don't think it counts much, but first human!zenyatta fanfic. (there could be more to this than both of those fics, so maybe if you wish to see more of this universe, you can request the original author more on their [tumblr](https://robotfvckers.tumblr.com/)!

**Terms of Service**

 

Zenyatta idly wonders, as he glances at Reinhardt as he sits on the couch, if he’s the only one feeling awkward.

It is one thing to get lost in the feeling of big, strong hands massaging his body –oh so heavenly– and another to face the aftermath. Reinhardt is still his brother’s bodyguard, and until things calm down, he will continue coming over to watch the house as Mondatta rests.

In fact, Zenyatta is only awake because he has to study… or that’s his excuse.

It isn’t like Zenyatta regrets what happened between them –he has fantasized enough about Reinhardt to be able to write entire books about it. Reinhardt is… well, handsome. He’s got wide shoulders, strong muscles and a contagious, happy laughter, he’s smart and fun to be around and… as he discovered last time, he’s good at massages.

Too good.

Yet, Zenyatta worries now because Reinhardt is still his brother’s bodyguard. What if he thinks he’s overstepped? What if he considers last night a mistake?

There’s no doubt in his mind that they both enjoyed it, and if Reinhardt’s words are to be trusted, he would want to continue further. Zenyatta sure would.

That was then, and this is now. There was enough time for Reinhardt to reconsider and realise just how far Zenyatta had pushed him.

He’s unsure how to confront the situation, so Zenyatta hesitates and remains in the kitchen, fumbling with a can of soda, and peeks at Reinhardt from behind the door.

He watches as Reinhardt flips from channel to channel apparently bored. Zenyatta watches the way Reinhardt’s hand wraps around the remote, and remembers vividly that same hand touching him, wrapping around his dick, hot and steady, and is startled by the soft, needy sound that leaves his lips.

To distance himself from the situation and stop the train of thoughts before it gets worse, Zenyatta abruptly walks to the cupboards and rummages through them, searching for something to eat. Maybe if he makes something and shares it with Reinhardt there will be no need for awkward silences, and it’ll give him something to do, too…

If what happened between them remains a one-time thing he won’t mind. Well, he’d be disappointed, but he’d respect it. He respects Reinhardt and well. He _did_ sort of force his hand, didn’t he? Neither of them had been an unwilling participant, but it was his unabashed reaction to Reinhardt massaging him that prompted what happened next.

He remembers the feeling of Reinhardt’s hands travelling up his legs, trapping him against the couch, the way his fingers had moved to his ass, how hot he’d felt, how he had wanted more…

He shoves a knuckle into his mouth and muffles a groan, embarrassed at how much he still _wants_ Reinhardt.

No good –he can’t really focus on anything else.

He reaches up into the cupboard to grab the bread, thoughts still lost in the heated memory of hot hands on his body, and when he turns around he bumps into someone’s chest, and stumbles back against the counter.

Reinhardt can move quietly when he wants to –or maybe he was far too lost in his thoughts, and failed to hear him coming.

Zenyatta swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and looks up.

Reinhardt is not smiling, though there’s something soft in the curve of his mouth, and it shouldn’t make Zenyatta want to kiss his lips, but it does. A part of him wonders how it would feel to have that beard scratch his face as they kiss, have Reinhardt squeeze him against the counter and trap him there, and…

“I think,” Reinhardt’s voice is loud in the silence, and it effectively rips Zenyatta out of his daydreaming. “that we need to talk, you and I.”

Zenyatta nods, not trusting himself to speak. Reinhardt moves away, and he ignores the disappointment to follow him back into the sitting room. There’s a seedling of apprehension inside him, and he worries, again, that he’s ruined whatever familiarity had existed between them.

Reinhardt flops down on the couch and motions for Zenyatta to sit in front of him, and barely waits for him to do so before clearing his throat.

“I am most sorry,” he says, and Zenyatta feels a mix of dread and disappointment lurch inside his chest, expecting what comes next, not wanting to hear him say it– “that I made you uncomfortable in your own home.”

Startled, Zenyatta blinks. “I…?”

“Ach, I did not want you to feel the need to walk on tiptoes around me,” Reinhardt continues, and he does look regretful. His lips are thin and pulled down, and he’s frowning, but he’s looking right into Zenyatta’s eyes, wanting to convey his apology. “Your brother, he’s a good man, and I do not want to break his trust by disrespecting you or him in his own house.”

“N…” Zenyatta fumbles with his words, fingers digging into the seam of his pants. “That is not it. It was my choice, wasn’t it? I…” his eyes widen a bit, embarrassed at what he’s about to say but unwilling to let Reinhardt shoulder a blame that is not his to take, “I made you do it. I wanted it. I still d–” he bits down on his next words an embarrassed flush on his cheeks as he realises that despite the seriousness of the talk and his awkward fumbling, he still can’t help but think about the previous night, and feel the same desire inside him.

The attraction is still there, probably worse because he’s tasted those hands on him, and he’s heard Reinhardt promise him more, and he _wants it_.

Reinhardt’s expressions twists into something sharper, more intense. His eyes move down to Zenyatta’s hands, noticing his white knuckles, then back up to his tense shoulders and his visible fluster, and something uncoils in him. “You made me do nothing that I didn’t want to do, young master,” the tone is one meant to reassure, but the steel in his voice makes Zenyatta startle. “I was good with looking and no touching until you asked for it.”

Zenyatta’s ears buzz as he processes Reinhardt’s words, but when he does, a flare of anticipation bubbles its way up to his chest.

“… you wanted to?”

“Of course. Would be stupid not to want to touch you. You’re a gorgeous young man. You would take my cock so well,” Zenyatta is startled by the abrupt shift of tone of their conversation, but it doesn’t stop his body from flaring up with arousal. “I still want that.”

“I…” he’s embarrassed to be so turned on just by that and yet he _is_ , enough that his voice cracks and he has to take a shuddery breath. “I want that as well.”

Reinhardt stretches one hand towards him and caresses a path down Zenyatta’s cheek to his lips with his warm palm. Zenyatta leans into the touch as Reinhardt presses his thumb against his mouth, traces its contours slowly, and Zenyatta exhales, wondering how it would taste to take Reinhardt’s finger into his mouth to suck on it.

“We can do a bargain, young master,” Reinhardt huffs out, amused, but the intensity in his eyes betrays his own desire. “I do want to continue to bring you pleasure, if you want it too”.

It’s so embarrassing how quick Zenyatta agrees, fumbles through words even as Reinhardt continues to caress his lips, the anticipation building inside him so strongly he’s lightheaded.

“Yes,” he breathes, and if it’s more of a moan, neither of them cares. “Please.”

Reinhardt makes a content, satisfied hum and pushes his thumb into Zenyatta’s mouth. Zenyatta feels it slide against his tongue and wraps his lips around it, takes it deeper and sucks on it.

It tastes like salt, the curve of a trimmed nail scraping the roof of his mouth, and Zenyatta sighs. He is still looking right into Reinhardt’s eyes as he continues to suck on his thumb, daring him.

This is a prelude, they both know it –he wants to have a taste of more than just a finger, but he feels enough winded as it is already.

Reinhardt huffs in amusement, and pushes his thumb down flat against Zenyatta’s tongue, his other fingers wrapping under the curve of his chin to tug him closer.

Zenyatta goes willingly. He stands up long enough to shuffle on Reinhardt’s lap, anticipation making his skin prickle. He is not sure what to expect, but the closeness helps, and the taut muscles of Reinhardt’s legs  flex under his weight as he settles down on his lap.

Reinhardt doesn’t remove his finger, but his other hand moves down to his side, slipping under Zenyatta’s cotton shirt to rub at a patch of skin right on his hip.

“Aye,” Reinhardt murmurs, lips tilted up in a pleased grin. “You’d take my cock beautifully.”

Zenyatta swallows again and moans, the sound muffled by Reinhardt’s thumb. He is unsure what to do with his hands, and he lets them hover above Reinhardt’s chest before tilting his head back and pushing the invading digit out of his mouth with his tongue.

Reinhardt raises both eyebrows at that, a smile on his lips.

“I would like to return the favour,” he offers, breathy and flustered. “I might not be as talented with my hands as you are, but I want to…” Reinhardt’s hand returns to caress his lips, and it’s distracting enough that Zenyatta pauses before he forces himself to focus. “I want to offer you a massage.”

He knows he’s said something good by the way Reinhardt’s face brightens up, his grin growing so impossibly large and happy that it’s contagious.

“I’m at your disposal!” Reinhardt leans back against the couch and stretches his arms wide open. Zenyatta is sitting on his lap and is offered a good view of his muscles rippling and bulging under the fabric of his shirt.

It is unfair how much that sight arouses him, and Zenyatta hopes Reinhardt won’t notice how he’s already half hard, as it would be embarrassing since they haven’t done anything.

Yet.

Filled with determination, Zenyatta moves forwards. He slides his hands to the edge of Reinhardt’s shirt and slips them underneath it. His skin is hot under his touch even if he can’t see it, his abs hard even where there’s some fat rolls, and as he moves his hands up, he can feel curls of chest hair tickle his fingertips.

Zenyatta takes it slow, enjoying that he’s allowed to touch Reinhardt to his heart’s content. He explores his chest starting from his lower belly, moves his fingers up in small, circular motions until he finds his nipples, and then rubs the pads of his fingers against them until they harden.

He hardly cared to experiment with his own during his self-indulgent times, but the way Reinhardt hums in pleasure, pushing into his touch, makes him want to.

More than that, he wants Reinhardt to do it for him –but not now. Later, perhaps.

He doesn’t quite know what to do to make Reinhardt melt under his hands –he has offered Mondatta a few back massages, but nothing like what he’s doing now– but he tries his hardest.

He slides his hands up to Reinhardt’s collarbone, presses down against its base and feels the way his tendons tense and move under his fingertips. He kneads the skin, rolls his knuckles down and back down to his front, intent and focused though he cannot see the skin, and when Reinhardt grabs his own shirt and tugs it above his head, revealing his chest to Zenyatta’s eager eyes, he only hums contentedly before moving with renewed purpose.

Zenyatta brushes his fingertips and flicks Reinhardt’s nipples, pleased to see them peek among the tufts of chest hair. The sight is weird –neither Zenyatta nor Mondatta have much to go in terms of body hair– but it’s pleasant. He did not think he would like the sight so much, but he lets his fingers caress it, tugging at it slightly and watches Reinhardt hiss and shuffle in place.

“You do a good job, but be more forceful,” he requests, voice rumbling and thick, and Zenyatta swallows and nods.

The next tug is harder, and Reinhardt rumbles in appreciation.

His hips move up a bit, thrusting against Zenyatta, and both of his hands move to wrap around the curve of Zenyatta’s thighs, fingers digging into the soft fat under his ass.

It’s a sensitive spot that makes Zenyatta’s skin tingle, and he’s hyperaware of Reinhardt’s fingers kneading his thighs. He wishes he was not wearing pants, but then Reinhardt would see what it’s doing to him. It’s distracting, and Zenyatta’s arousal makes it even harder to focus, but he’s determined to see this through.

He does not fight the sudden impulse to use his mouth, though –he slumps down against Reinhardt’s chest and kisses his collarbone, pressing his teeth against his neck without biting and then trails down a series of open-mouthed kisses until he reaches his nipples again. He latches onto one of them and gives it a suck, wrapping his teeth around it gently before tugging at it.

“Quick learner,” Reinhardt praises him, and Zenyatta moans around the nipple, and nibbles on it.

It’s not much, but Reinhardt buckles under him, and oh– Zenyatta is far too aware now that Reinhardt is hard underneath him. He can feel his cock press against him, and as Reinhardt juts his hips up again, his cock slides against his ass and Zenyatta whimpers.

He would feel more pleased with himself for getting Reinhardt hard if those hands weren’t sliding up his ass, kneading his cheeks and spreading them to press his fingers between them, and oh– Zenyatta does regret not being naked now.

Fingers are sliding across his entrance, over and over, almost forceful, and Zenyatta is overwhelmed at the feeling. He arches up, lips parted, and moans loudly, jutting his hips back to meet the teasing touches.

He _wants_ –he wants the touch, he wants it deeper, and for a moment he loses his composure, eyes fluttering close, and lets himself feel.

Reinhardt’s index presses down hard against him, rubs small, teasing circles against his entrance, then slides lower, reaches the base of his cock, just shy of his balls, and kneads it with his knuckles. The pressure is inviting and welcome, and Zenyatta moans and bucks into it, rubs his erection against Reinhardt’s stomach and feels his thighs tense as he strains to get touched _more_.

It’s not enough –if Zenyatta had it his way, there would be less clothing and he would have Reinhardt bury his fingers inside him and he would ride them and take them deep– but it feels good, and he’s desperate for any kind of attention.

He is on fire, and it feels really _good_.

“Hnnn–”

Reinhardt chuckles, amused, and now Zenyatta has to contend with both of his hands massaging him at the same time. They knead his ass and spread his cheeks, rub every inch of skin and pinch the fat where his ass meets his thighs, making him yelp and gasp. The friction of his pants against his skin is just one more teasing touch, and it’s so easy to get lost in the pleasure. He shivers and trembles and can only grab onto Reinhardt’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin, and hold onto him.

He forgets about the massage there, forgets everything except how good Reinhardt is making him feel.

“Don’t lose focus, little master, you promised me a massage yes?” Reinhardt breathes against his ear, and Zenyatta whimpers, legs trembling, and nods.

He’s so hard there’s a visible tent in his pants, but Reinhardt is right –he made a promise and he should not break it, even when it’s so hard to focus and think.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

The hands on him don’t stop their teasing, but they shuffle him higher on Reinhardt’s lap so that Zenyatta can sit properly on his cock, his own dick squeezed between them.

Reinhardt helps him find a good rhythm in his movements, and it feels almost as if he’s riding him. they’re moving together now, or Reinhardt is moving him and Zenyatta is all too pleased by the constant friction to do anything to stop him.

The bulge of Reinhardt’s cock strain against his pants and press against his ass, and Zenyatta moans again when fingers join the pressure again, adding more of their teasing caresses until he’s like putty on Reinhardt’s lap.

“Ah, ah–”

Zenyatta has barely enough focus to wonder if he’s being too loud, if there’s a risk to be heard, but even that thought is swept away by the need for more, the pleasure growing with every shift of Reinhardt’s hips.

“Aaah–”

Zenyatta opens his mouth, aware that he’s drooling a little, and kisses sloppily down Reinhardt’s chest once again, mouthing inch after inch of skin with his lips and tongue. He sucks and bites down hard enough to leave the traces of his teeth in his wake. He feels Reinhardt shiver underneath him, hears a deep moan come from his throat that makes Zenyatta shudder.

He feels like he could come just from that, from the sounds of pleasure coming from him. It’s like an addiction. He sucks on one of Reinhardt’s nipples and lets his hands drag down the sides of his chest, finding the curve of his soft belly and the little flabs of skin of his sides, and massages them, pleased at how it feels under his hands.

His belly gives in a little, pliant under his touch but underneath he can feel hard muscle, and Zenyatta holds onto Reinhardt’s sides as he starts thrusting his hips forwards to get more friction.

“Feels good,” he says, breathing hard, and Reinhardt chuckles again.

“Yes,” is the reply, and it sounds _hungry_.

His hands move to Reinhardt’s stomach, fingers splayed apart as he puts some pressure down, feels taut skin and coarse hair, and arches up, mouth leaving an abused nipple to go higher.

Reinhardt isn’t expecting a kiss, but he welcomes Zenyatta’s lips against his own with a grunt, slides his tongue past their edge and drags his teeth down Zenyatta’s lower lip, tugging it gently. His beard is rough and it scrapes against Zenyatta’s face, the feeling unfamiliar but oh-so-pleasant, and he wonders –how would that feel with Reinhardt going down on him…?

Zenyatta moans again, stutters in his massage and his hips still, thighs aching as he keeps them spread apart across Reinhardt’s lap.

He’s panting hard, and Reinhardt forces him to move again, cants his hips just so, reminding Zenyatta that he’s sitting on his cock, that if there were no clothes between them, he would–

“I will fill you good,” Reinhardt mutters against his lips, and the look he gives Zenyatta is smouldering enough to melt iron. “With my fingers first, I will drag out such delicious moans from your lips, and then I will stuff you full with toys until you cannot think and then… ah, and _then_ …” he steals another kiss from Zenyatta’s pliant mouth, robs him of what little breath he’s got left until Zenyatta _keens_ , so hard he’s throbbing “and then I will get inside you and it will be _glorious_.”

“T-touch me,” Zenyatta’s voice breaks in his plea, almost sobs with how much he wants it, and he feels Reinhardt laugh hard, pleased and loud.

“Am I not touching you already? Is that maybe not enough?”

Zenyatta digs his nails into the soft skin of Reinhardt’s stomach, tugs on it almost forcefully, and leans forwards to chase his lips for a kiss, teeth bared to nibble at Reinhardt’s tongue. “No,” he pants, breathing hard, aching and shivering with pleasure and need. “ _Touch me_.”

Again, Reinhardt laughs, but Zenyatta is rewarded when one hand moves away from his ass to slip to his front, past the hem of his pants.

He’s afraid he will come undone with the first touch of Reinhardt’s fingers on his cock, then, hypersensitive and aching to feel his big, warm hand wrap around it, and yet instead of doing that, he feels his fingers wriggle lower, cupping his balls and searching lower, until he feels his index press against his opening, now without pants between them.

The touch makes him jolt –anticipation leaving him breathless– but no, Reinhardt doesn’t push inside him, mindful of their lack of preparation and lubrication. He just teases him further, lets him feel how it would be to sit on him and ride his hand, skin against skin, for a second more, and as he watches Zenyatta moan and gasp and rut against him, Reinhardt figures he’s played with him long enough.

“You are good at massages, but I am much better,” he says, with absolute certainty, and his hand finally – _finally_ – moves to wrap around Zenyatta’s cock. He envelopes it in his palm, and his fingers work on its length with precision, tugging at the skin with enough force that Zenyatta slumps completely against Reinhardt, unable to keep up, mouth open wide but choking on his gasps. “You can learn, though. I am willing to let you practice whenever you want.”

Zenyatta’s next moan is loud, and unabashed.

Every time he shifts forwards he moves into Reinhardt’s hand, when he moves back he feels the curve of his cock press against his ass. Reinhardt is chuckling, the vibration and the sound only adding to Zenyatta’s pleasure, clouding his thoughts to everything else.

It’s too much –between the pleasure and Reinhardt’s promise that they will do it again, and more, and soon…

Zenyatta wants it all –his fingers, his dick, his mouth–

“I– I’m…”

He’s so close, he can almost taste it, and he arches his back and throws his head back, panting hard, trying to make it last longer, wanting to continue, he’s not ready to…

Again, Reinhardt tugs at his cock, thumb massaging its slit, and Zenyatta gasps and fees the coils of pleasure tighten inside his belly.

Throwing his head back, Zenyatta clenches his fingers on Reinhardt’s belly fat, nails digging into it for purchase, and lets go.

He comes hard in Reinhardt’s hand, shivers and feels the shocks of his orgasm travel down to the tips of his fingers, leaving him shaking in the aftermath.

With a soft, drawn-out moan, Zenyatta slumps down on Reinhardt’s chest, spent and panting hard.

The hand moves still, coaxing tiny moans from his throat, his oversensitive cock twitching as it gets stimulated still, fingers now slick with his come moving down his length with ease.

There is no way he can move, and he can only ride the sparkles of pleasure and moan every time Reinhardt’s thumb glides across his slit, making him twitch.

Through it all, Reinhardt has not looked away from him, eating up the sight of Zenyatta climaxing with a hungry, pleased stare, and now is coaxing him to move again, as he is still hard and the weight of Zenyatta on his cock is nothing if not pleasant.

“Beautiful,” he declares in a huff, and he looks so proud of himself Zenyatta accepts the compliment without protesting.

He’s spent and panting, the hand cupping his softened dick still _there_ even if it’s unmoving, and he fumbles to sit up on Reinhardt’s lap again. The fingers surrounding his dick are bordering on too much for how sensitive he is, and yet he doesn’t want them to move either. He feels deliciously achy but he’s aware of how hard Reinhardt still is, and he wants to watch Reinhardt come as well. As he looks down, he notices he’s left red fingerprints and tiny nail wounds all over his stomach, and he looks at them with wide eyes, surprised at the wave of pleased pride that fills him at the sight.

“You did not come.” Zenyatta licks his lips, tasting sweat and salt, and uses one hand on Reinhardt’s chest to steady himself as he looks up and into his eyes.

“Not yet, but soon! You think you can go again, yes?” Reinhardt answers, lips spread in a wide smile. “Still young, it would not take you long at all, with the proper aid. I can teach you a few things while we wait.”

Zenyatta swallows, has the sudden mental image of Reinhardt pushing him down on the couch and covering his thin frame with his own bulky, massive ones, and shivers.

He wonders how it would feel to have his big hands pin him down, and bites down on his lower lip to stifle a small, needy moan.

“… please,” he asks, breathless, and the hand around his dick moves away, sliding out of his pants.

Zenyatta watches as Reinhardt brings his soiled hand to his mouth and licks his palm, all the while keeping eye contact with him, and the moan that leaves his lips is just as unexpected as it is loud.

That man is going to be the end of him.


End file.
